


Set Our Hearts Ablaze

by Black_Hole_of_Procrastination



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 21:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6059437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination/pseuds/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her ancestors sought to conquer Dorne with fire and blood, but she means to accomplish a different sort of Dornish conquest this night.  (a.k.a. My 'What If Quentyn Wasn't Barbecued' AU)</p>
<p>Originally written for Valar_Morekinks on LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Set Our Hearts Ablaze

**Original prompt:**  The court of King's Landing may ignore Dany's seemingly meek consort, but he's still a Martell.

And because I have no chill, there is also a corresponding [tumblr edit](http://blackholeofprocrastination.tumblr.com/post/139138847281/set-our-hearts-ablaze-daenerys-x-quentyn-what-if) for this ficlet.

 

**Set Our Hearts Ablaze**

“No one wants me for their king,” Quentyn protests quietly. 

His back is to her as he moves to sit with his legs hanging over the edge of the bed. She cannot see his face, but from the tense hunch of his shoulders she knows now is not the time to placate him with sweet words. 

Besides, there is some truth in what he says. For all that Quentyn is just, and kind, and _good_ , he is not particularly well-liked at court. 

Her knights and vassals make japes behind his back, dismayed that a Dornishman should be shown royal favor. 

Her ladies sigh and lament that he is not more comely or amusing like his princely brother, Trystane, who has taken his dark eyes and easy smiles back to Dorne (along with the hearts of half the ladies at court). 

Her advisors pay Quentyn little notice when he sits stone-faced at the Small Council table, only to later grumble over how she would be better served with the Tyrell heir at her side. 

Quentyn is too solemn. Too plain. Too reserved.

_I once thought the same,_ Dany muses, remembering the overly earnest boy she rejected in Meereen all those months ago. 

She knows better now. 

Slowly, she crawls across the mattress, embracing her lover from behind, her bare breasts pressed against the uneven burn scars that litter his back. He is rigid in her arms, apparently unwilling to give into the comfort she offers.

_Unbowed, unbent, unbroken,_ she thinks wryly, wiggling closer so that her chin is perched on his shoulder.

“Perhaps you are right, my prince,” she murmurs near his ear. “But you forget one very important thing.” She pauses to press a kiss to the skin of his neck. “It is what _I_ want that matters.”

He laughs. It is a short, soft sound, and Dany relishes that she is one of the few to hear it. 

She scrambles around to straddle his lap. A hand fists in his hair, tilting his head as she leans forward to kiss him. He melts into her, no longer the stiff and unyielding in her arms. She grins into the kiss, giddy with this small victory, and more certain she will succeed with an even greater victory yet. 

Her ancestors sought to conquer Dorne with fire and blood, but she means to accomplish a different sort of Dornish conquest this night. 

He will say yes. She will make him see sense, and then he will say yes.

_My dragon tamer. My prince. My king._


End file.
